


Of Writers and Sailors

by Zanate56



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011), Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanate56/pseuds/Zanate56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots focused mainly on the friendship between Tintin and Captain Haddock, though other characters from Herge's stories will appear. NON-SLASH. Ch. 7 - Not everyone think that Tintin's rushing into Tibet to save Chang was the wisest of decisions. But every action has its own consequence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Matter of Opinion

It was raining heavily by the time Tintin stepped off the platform at the village of Marlinspike. He had planned to walk to Marlinspike Hall, given that the summer weather had been clear and calm, but the thunderstorm had descended so quickly upon the countryside that he and Snowy were forced to take refuge at the inn near the station.

The normally quiet inn was packed with passengers who had also decided to wait out the rain. Tintin picked up Snowy so the dog wouldn’t be trod upon and managed to make his way to a far corner where a small table and chair sat next to a window.

“Afternoon, lad,” said Tom, the innkeeper. “Cup o’ tea?” he asked, raising his voice over the customers crowding the bar.

Tintin’s visits to Marlinspike had become frequent enough that Tom, as well as several other locals, now easily recognized the young reporter and his white dog.

“Yes, please,” said the boy gratefully as he struggled out of his soaked jacket. Snowy whuffed in agreement and shook his small body vigorously, sending water droplets everywhere. Tintin hung his jacket over the back of his chair and then wiped his face and hands free of rainwater with a handkerchief.

“Bless my soul, it’s Tintin! How are you, m’dear?” Tintin looked up to see Tom’s wife, Annette, making her way towards him.

Tintin rose to greet her, taking the woman’s outstretched hands with a smile. 

“Madame Smith, you are lovely as ever,” he said.

Annette gave the boy a friendly swat on the shoulder. “And you are thinner and paler than last I saw you! You’ll have sandwiches and some biscuits with your tea, and no arguments young man!”

Tintin chuckled and held up his hands in a placating manner. “I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you, Madame!”

“And how many times must I ask you to call me Annie?”

Snowy suddenly barked impatiently and Annette bent down to stroke the dog’s ears. “And how does a bit of leftover roast sound for you, Snowy?” The dog yipped happily.

Annette turned her head as a customer called to her impatiently. “Oh, bother this storm! This lot is worse than a pack of wolves! You’ll be alright for a bit, won’t you Tintin?”

“Please, don’t rush on my account,” said Tintin. “I’ll not be able to go anywhere until this rain lets up.”

Annette smiled and patted his shoulder once more before disappearing into the kitchen again.

After she had gone Tintin returned to his chair and rested his chin on his hands, watching the rain fall. It had a hypnotic, soothing effect and soon Tintin found himself fighting off a doze.

“Did you read the posting about Marlinspike Hall? Apparently an heir to the estate has been found. A Captain Haddock, late of His Majesty’s Merchant Navy.”

Tintin shook himself awake as he heard his friend’s name. Normally he would never dream of eavesdropping on a private conversation, but the woman who was speaking had such a shrill voice that it was difficult to not hear her.

“A captain, you say? How exciting! He must be a man of good breeding and excellent character,” said another woman. Tintin turned slightly in his chair to see a group of well-dressed ladies sitting at a table close to his own. Their elegant clothing and London accents suggested that they were not locals.

“Hmph, that is not what I heard.”

“What do you mean, Beatrice?”

“Well, not to gossip, you know how much I loathe gossip Mary-”

“Yes, we are all well aware of your absolute distaste for spreading gossip, Beatrice,” said one of the women, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

“Do let me continue, Catherine. Now, as I was saying – do you remember that article in _The Times_ not too long ago, the one about that horrid affair with the _Karaboujan_?”

“Yes, my brother is a midshipman and told me about it,” said Catherine. “What of it?” 

“Well, it seems that the new resident of Marlinspike Hall is the very selfsame Captain Haddock who was charged with dereliction of duty by His Majesty’s navy. Can you imagine! I don’t know how the residents of Marlinspike stand for it.”

“I daresay there are a great many good qualities about the captain,” said Catherine. “I have heard nothing but good of Captain Haddock from the locals.”

“Hmph, commoners! What could they possible know or care about good breeding and social standing…”

Tintin turned away, swallowing hard to keep from speaking his mind. The kind monks who had raised him had taught him better than to be deliberately rude to a lady, even if that harridan deserve it. He frowned down at the table until a tray bearing tea and food occluded his vision. Tintin looked up to see Annette giving him a compassionate look. The older woman’s expression told Tintin that she had heard the whole ugly discussion. “Pay no attention to them, Tintin. A bunch of gossipmongers, the lot of them.”

“Of course, Madame.”

“And do not let it put you off your appetite either. Eat your lunch. Oh, and the captain just rang. He thought you might be here on account of the storm and asked me to tell you that he will be here shortly.”

Tintin nodded even though he no longer felt hungry. Nonetheless he made a valiant effort to eat his meal and was surprised to find that the plate was empty by the time Haddock arrived.

Haddock smiled when he caught sight of Tintin. 

“Ah, there you are lad. Fancy a lift back to the hall? Tom, Annie, how are you?”

“Good to see you again, sir,” said Tom, shaking Haddock’s hand.

“Likewise, and ‘sir’ isn’t necessary. ‘Captain’ will do just fine,” said Haddock with a smile before he turned to Tintin.

“Ready to go then?”

“Yes,” said Tintin, gathering up his bag. Tintin shook Tom’s hand and allowed Annette to give him a motherly hug. “Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course, dear. You will visit us before you return to London, won’t you?”

“I promise I will. Good day to you both,” said Tintin. Haddock tilted his cap to the couple and then they were gone.

After they had left Annette sighed and shook her head.

“Such a gentle young soul, Tom. I’m glad for him.”

“How do you mean, Annie?”

“I cannot quite put my finger on it, but the boy seems so…lonely sometimes. Haven’t you noticed he never has anyone else with him except that dog? I’m glad he has a friend in the captain, and the captain in him.”

Tom smiled. “I never thought of it before but you’re right, m’dear. And have you noticed how the captain seems to drink less whenever Tintin visits?”

“Indeed I have. And Tintin always seems to eat better.”

Tom chuckled as he went to go attend to a couple that just walked in. “They’re good for each other, that they are.”

********

“So what news in the village? Are those old gossips still nattering on?” Haddock said as they drove down the road towards Marlinspike Hall.

Tintin turned to stare at Haddock in surprise. “How did you know what I was thinking about?”

“Lad, when you’ve sailed as long as I have you learn very quickly when you’re the subject of gossip. Sailors are probably the biggest gossips of them all. It helps to fight the boredom while at sea.” 

Tintin reluctantly repeated the conversation and Haddock simply chuckled. “I suppose I should start wearing a suit and monocle – maybe that would make me more civilised, eh?” 

Tintin laughed and was about to respond when an ominous rumbling began to shake the car. Tintin glanced at Haddock. “Do you hear that-”

The rest of the boy’s words were cut off as a loud bang suddenly sounded, causing the car to swerve dangerously on the muddy road. Haddock cursed and gripped the wheel hard, skidding to a stop. The engine made a groaning noise and then suddenly started to smoke. 

“Billions of blisterin’ blue barnacles!” Haddock cursed and quickly turned off the car before leaping out. Tintin quickly followed as they tried to figure out what had happened.

Twenty minutes later Haddock sighed and threw up his hands in disgust. “We’ll have to walk back and send someone for the car in the morning. I don’t have the tools to fix it here.”

He kicked the car in ill humor and suddenly a jet of oil hit the captain full in the face from the still open hood. Haddock cursed and tried to wipe the oil off, but only managed to spread it even more over his face. A sudden trill of laughter broke off his virulent swearing and he turned around.

Tintin was bent double in laughter, tears streaming down his face. It was the first time Haddock had seen the boy truly laugh with such carefree abandon and he found himself wanting to make Tintin laugh like that as often as possible.

“It’s not funny,” Haddock growled even as he tried to keep his own smile from growing.

“S-sorry, Captain, but...but your face…” the boy spluttered helplessly. “You just looked so shocked,” Tintin broke off into more peals of laughter.

Haddock suddenly felt a surge of mischievousness and advanced slowly towards the boy.

“Oho, well here’s mud in your eye, lad!” With that, Haddock scooped up a handful of mud and threw it at Tintin. It hit the boy square in the face and knocked him right onto his backside.

Tintin stared at Haddock in shock and then suddenly smirked and tossed his own handful of mud, whooping when it knocked Haddock’s hat clear off of his head.

Haddock growled playfully and moved with surprising speed, tackling Tintin about the waist and throwing them both right into a large muddy puddle. The two men grappled in the mud, laughing and shouting playful insults at one another as they each sought to gain the upper hand.

Tintin was as quick and as slippery as an eel, but Haddock’s height and weight eventually allowed him to pin Tintin underneath him. He leaned back on his knees and grinned as the younger man tried to squirm free.

“Surrender?”

“Never!”

“You leave me no choice then,” Haddock sighed with mock sadness. Before Tintin could question him Haddock ran his fingers over Tintin’s ribs.

“No!” the boy practically yelped, squirming to get away. “That’s not fair!”

Haddock ignored him and continued his tickling assault, sending the boy into more peals of laughter that had Tintin in helpless tears.

“P-please, C-captain, I can’t breathe!” Tintin gasped out between laughter, his face dark red.

“Not until you surrender!”

“All right, mercy! You win! Mercy!” 

“Good man,” said Haddock with a smirk. He released the boy and moved to sit next to him. Tintin sat up, taking several deep breaths before glaring in mock annoyance at the captain. “That was unfair,” he huffed.

Haddock shrugged. “But I still won,” he added with a smirk.

“Nestor is going to be furious when he sees us,” said Tintin, glancing down ruefully at his mud-covered clothes.

Haddock scratched at his beard where the mud was already beginning to dry. “Aye, we best start walking back before the rain comes back.”

Tintin nodded and stood. He stepped forward and then suddenly felt the muddy ground give way under him. Startled, Tintin lost his footing and fell awkwardly. He felt his ankle twist and a hot flare of pain, and then the next thing he knew he was tumbling down the small hill they had been on. He came to a stop at the bottom, blinking in surprise at the cloudy sky above him.

“Tintin!” Haddock slid to a halt next to the boy, his arms flailing wildly as he struggled to keep from falling on top of his friend. Snowy barked anxiously and licked Tintin’s face.

“Are you hurt?” Haddock asked, kneeling next to the boy.

“No, just startled,” said Tintin as he patted Snowy in reassurance. Haddock held out a hand and pulled Tintin to his feet. As soon as he put weight on his right foot Tintin felt a hot burst of pain in his ankle and gasped. Haddock immediately steadied him.

“Stay put,” said the captain, gently pushing on Tintin’s shoulder. The boy obediently sank back to the ground, panting. Haddock pulled off Tintin’s boot and sock and carefully felt along the injured limb. He had enough experience with twisted limbs thanks to icy wet decks and knew enough to recognize that the joint was sprained, but thankfully not broken.

“Can I have my boot back now, please?” Tintin’s foot was growing cold, as was the rest of him.

Haddock shook his head. “It’s best to leave it off in case your ankle swells. Trust me lad, you do not want to have to pull a boot off a swollen ankle. It hurts like the devil.” An ominous rumble of thunder made Haddock glance up at the darkening sky. It would be dark soon and he did not relish the idea of walking back to Marlinspike Hall in a downpour.

“Right, climb on then,” he said, turning his back to Tintin. 

When the boy just stared at him in confusion Haddock sighed and pulled Tintin’s arms around his neck. Tintin’s eyes widened and he struggled half-heartedly.

“This really isn’t necessary-” Tintin began but his protests died when Haddock stood, staggering only slightly before regaining his balance. He grasped Tintin’s knees and firmly pulled his weight into a more secure position. The boy let out a strangled noise as his injured ankle throbbed and quickly muffled it against Haddock’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” said Haddock, squeezing the boy’s leg in apology.

“What about my bag? It has all my things in it,” said Tintin once the pain had passed and he didn’t feel as though he was going to be sick or, heaven forbid, faint.

“It’ll be safe in the car. We can get it in the morning. Right now I want to get back to the hall before it starts raining again. Snowy, come!”

The dog obediently trotted next to Haddock as he set off down the road.

“Your back is going to hate you in the morning,” murmured Tintin after they had walked in silence for a while.

“Lad, I’ve carried injured men twice your size while I was at sea. You’re not heavy. In fact,” Haddock added, “you could do with a little fattening up. Do you never eat?” 

“Course I do…I eat all the time when I’m at Marlinspike.”

“Yes, but when you’re not at the hall?”

“Uhmm…”

“Well?”

“I’m thinking,” said Tintin with a huff.

Haddock sighed and shook his head. He recalled how his fingers had wrapped almost completely around the boy’s slender ankle and wondered not for the first time how long Tintin had gone without somebody to make sure that he ate properly, not to mention not get killed in the harebrained adventures he always seemed to get caught up in. He knew that Tintin wasn’t a child and was more than capable of taking care of himself, but there was a certain recklessness to Tintin that worried Haddock. It was as if the boy didn’t realize that there were people who cared about him; that his death would leave a gaping hole that no amount of whiskey could ever fill.

“You’d look terrible in a monocle, you know,” said Tintin after a while, his voice thick from a combination of drowsiness and pain.

Haddock chuckled and shifted the boy’s weight. He could see the lights of the hall in the distance and quickened his pace.

Tintin spoke again, this time from the verge of sleep. “I like Captain Haddock just fine and I’m glad to call him a friend. And I’d tell the King of England himself.”

Haddock didn’t answer. There was a warm feeling welling up inside of him that heated his veins better than any whiskey could have. He squeezed Tintin’s knee and felt the boy smile against his shoulder.

Nestor raised an eyebrow when he greeted them at the door. Haddock supposed they did make a strange sight, both of them covered in mud and grass, and Tintin missing a shoe and sock from one foot.

“Shall I fetch a doctor, Master Haddock?”

“No need, Nestor. We can manage.”

Yes, they would indeed manage together, thought Nestor with a small smile as he went to run two separate baths and fetch dry clothing. They would manage just fine.


	2. Lines of Longitude

_“A man should choose a friend who is better than himself. There are plenty of acquaintances in the world; but very few real friends.” – Chinese proverb_

“Haddock! Ahoy, Haddock!” 

Haddock looked up from where he had been perusing a bookseller’s stall, blinking against the bright afternoon sunlight. He put a hand up to shade his eyes as he searched for the person who had called out to him. Haddock’s weathered eyes crinkled in a smile when he identified the person.

“Michael Chester! I thought you had already set sail for Newfoundland! What are you still doing in London?”

Captain Chester grinned as he shook Haddock’s hand, clapping his friend firmly on the shoulder. 

“I was but my ship is docked for emergency repairs.” Chester took off his hat and wiped at his sweaty face with his handkerchief.

“Fancy a drink? It’s hot enough to roast a chicken out here. What are you doing, by the way?”

“A drink sounds excellent, but first let me take one last look at this vendor’s wares.”

Chester groaned but obligingly followed Haddock back to the bookseller’s stall. Haddock had an insatiable appetite for books that was almost equal to his love for whiskey. Despite his protests Chester was glad that his friend still had some hobbies aside from drinking. He watched in amusement as Haddock browsed the stack of books with all of the excitement of a child in a candy shop.

Just as Haddock was about to give up hope of finding anything of interest a two-volume set caught his eye. Haddock turned the books over so that he could read the faded gold-plated lettering on the spines. _Romance of the Three Kingdoms_ by Charles Henry Brewitt-Taylor, it read. The captain grinned. He knew a young writer who had a keen interest in China and would appreciate such a rare find. Haddock paid the vendor and then nodded to Chester.

“Now, for that drink! I know an excellent tavern not too far from here that serves an excellent ale. Just the thing for a hot day like this.”

“What did you find?” Chester asked and then raised a bristly orange brow when Haddock showed him the books’ title.

“I didn’t take you for a student of Chinese legends, Haddock.”

“I’m not, but Tintin is. He’s been to China, even has a good friend that he met while over there.”

“Tintin – you mean the young reporter that accompanied you on the _Aurora_ expedition?” Chester struggled to recall the image of the lad, a boy that barely came up to Haddock’s shoulder but had still managed to convey a sense of quiet competence and maturity.

“Aye, the very same,” said Haddock as they stepped into the cool, dim interior of the inn. They placed their orders at the bar and then sat down, both men gratefully shedding hats and coats.

“I didn’t realize you two were so close,” said Chester once they were settled and had sweaty glasses of ale in front of them.

Haddock gave the other man a sharp look over the rim of his glass. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said sharply.

Surprised, Chester raised his hands in placation. “Steady on, Haddock. I meant no harm. I’m just surprised that’s all. I mean, old sea dogs like us tend to be a bit rough around the edges. How did you meet him, by the way? You told me that he had recommended you for the captaincy of the Aurora, so you clearly knew him before the expedition.”

Chester watched as Haddock’s expression softened at the memory of Tintin bursting into his cabin, all fiery determination and righteous anger. “He was the same reporter who had been kidnapped and taken aboard the _Karaboujan._ We helped each other escape, or rather, Tintin did all of the work while I was a drunken wreck.” 

Haddock still winced every time he remembered how in his hallucinations and alcohol withdrawal he had nearly wrung the boy’s neck in his efforts to uncork the “champagne bottle”. Tintin had never mentioned the incident again but the sight of the dark bruises covering Tintin’s pale throat like some obscene necklace had sobered Haddock up faster than any tonic water could have.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Chester sat his glass down with a thump as his eyes widened in surprise. “ _That_ was the reporter who uncovered the cocaine smuggling ring? By Jove, he can’t be a day over eighteen!”

Haddock smiled at his friend’s amazement. “You’d be surprised by what Tintin can do; he’s as tough as nails, that one.”

“Tintin isn’t his real name, surely?”

“Of course not,” said Haddock with a snort. “It’s Justin, but everyone calls him Tintin and that’s how he signs all of his articles.”

Chester leaned back in his, studying his friend thoughtfully as Haddock described one of Tintin’s more recent adventures. Haddock spoke of the boy with a mixture of fondness and exasperation at his recklessness. And beneath that there was a protectiveness that Chester had never heard from his friend before. Haddock was a good man and a damned fine sailor, but Chester had never known him to be particularly fond of young people, especially scrappy reporters and their dogs.

“He sounds like a fine lad,” said Chester mildly. “And a determined one if he’s set on getting you off of the bottle,” he added with a gentle smirk.

Haddock took a reflective sip of ale as he considered Chester’s words. He certainly hadn’t expected to see or hear from Tintin again after that debacle with the _Karaboujan._ He had been both surprised and touched when he learned that Tintin had been the one to recommend his as captain of the _Aurora_ expedition. And even after they had delivered the meteorite fragment they had stayed in touch, rather than going their separate ways. Why did Haddock feel so drawn to and protective of a boy he had know for only a few months?

Perhaps it was because Tintin saw something in Haddock besides a washed-up old soak, he thought wryly. Even Chester hadn’t been able to dissuade Haddock to give up the bottle, though Heaven knows the man had tried hard enough over the years. And yet a scrawny slip of a lad not even eighteen years of age had managed to at least pause (if not fully stop) Haddock’s hand every time he reached for a bottle.

Haddock thought back to a particularly beautiful, clear night during the _Aurora’s_ return voyage. He and Tintin had been on deck, watching the stars despite the bitter cold. Haddock had asked Tintin if he would write home to tell his family about his latest adventure, to which the boy had replied that he didn’t have anyone to write to. Haddock had struggled to find something to say but Tintin had changed the subject so he had let it drop. It bothered Haddock that someone so young should be so alone. Loneliness was something Haddock was all too familiar with. Perhaps that was why he and Tintin kept coming back to each other, much like two lines of longitude eventually meeting at the poles, no matter how far apart they grew.

The conversation eventually drifted to other subjects and when the clock chimed Haddock rose and stretched.

“Well, I’d best be off. I promised Tintin that I’d drop by for supper. Take care, won’t you Chester?”

“Of course,” said Chester as they shook hands outside of the inn. “And give my regards to Tintin when you see him.”

“I will. Safe sailing, Chester.”

Chester watched his friend disappear into the crowd, shaking his head slowly in wonderment. He could only consider it divine Providence that Haddock and Tintin’s paths had crossed; Chester had feared that being forced into early retirement would have driven Haddock straight into a bottle and Chester wouldn’t have been able to pull him back this time. Instead a young slip of a boy had cast his friend a lifeline and, remarkably, the captain had accepted it.

The captain smiled and shook his head as he went to go check on his ship’s repairs. He certainly hoped he had a chance to meet the young man again, if for no other reason than to thank him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know Captain Chester’s first name was never revealed in the comics, so I made up one for him.
> 
> I’ve always wondered what the early days of Tintin and Haddock’s friendship were like, especially before the events of ‘The Secret of the Unicorn’. By the start of that story it’s clear that they’re close friends, as Tintin immediately thinks of Haddock when he sees a model ship. So I wanted to pay homage to that particular scene by Haddock doing something similar for Tintin. 
> 
> ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ is considered one of the four great classical novels of Chinese literature, and blends historical facts with Chinese legends and myths. The version Haddock purchases is an actual English translation that was published in 1925 in two volumes.
> 
> I have my own ideas on how Tintin got his given name, which shall be explored at length in a future fic. ;)


	3. Lifeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how short this chapter is, dear readers. I’m home sick with pneumonia and wanted to write some H/C to cheer me up. I am working on a longer story and hope to have the first chapter up soon. I would also like to thank everyone who has commented, favorite and followed my stories. I’m glad so many people are enjoying them!

_“O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.” – William Shakespeare, ‘Othello’: Act 2, Scene 3_

Haddock groaned and pressed another damp cloth over his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have indulged in that last bottle last night. But the drink still had a powerful hold over him, and a part of Haddock wondered if he could ever give it up when part of him relished the blissful oblivion the alcohol could provide him. He knew it was weak of him but Haddock had no delusions about himself; his family line had decreased in respectability over the generations and was now known more for its love of the bottle than his famous ancestry.

“Oh captain, how much did you have to drink this time?”

Haddock lowered the cloth and squinted against the light. His blurry vision could just make out Tintin’s face leaning over him. The boy’s expression was a mixture of worry, exasperation and disappointment. It was the disappointment that made Haddock close his eyes again.

“Don’t lecture me laddie, I’m in no mood to here it,” he groused.

“Is that what you think? That I’m here only to lecture you?” said Tintin, sounding slightly hurt.

“Aren’t you?”

“I came because I was worried about you. But if I’m not wanted then I can leave,” said the boy with a hint of rare anger in his voice.

“Well, you’ve seen for yourself that I’m still alive – now you can go.” 

Stung, Tintin turned on his heel to go but paused with his hand on the knob to the study’s door. He looked back to where the captain still lay on the sofa, the picture of abject misery. A sudden memory of Haddock staying up with him all night when he had been seriously ill with pneumonia made Tintin close the door and step back towards to where his friend lay.

Haddock heard the door close with a soft click and felt a mixture of relief and hurt. No matter what he had said Tintin’s company was always welcome. But neither did he want the boy to see him like this; losing Tintin’s respect was something that Haddock truly didn’t think he could bear. He suddenly wondered if this had been the last straw that had broken Tintin’s patience.

Suddenly Haddock felt the sofa dip next to his shoulder. He opened in his eyes in surprise to see that Tintin had sat down next to him. The boy nudged his shoulders. “Can you lift up for a moment?”

Bemused but too tired to argue, Haddock raised himself up and Tintin squeezed in behind him, gently tugging down on Haddock’s shoulders so that the older man’s head rested in his lap.

“I don’t need a nursemaid,” he said, struggling half-heartedly and then stopping when his aching head swam.

“Shush,” said Tintin, keeping his voice low in deference to Haddock’s aching skull. “Do you have anything you can take for your head?”

“Nestor left a glass of tonic water and Columbus knows what else.”

“You’ll take what Nestor gives you and no complaints,” said Tintin firmly, though his fingers were gentle as he ran them through Haddock’s hair. He placed a fresh cold cloth on Haddock’s brow and held it there.

The commanding tone made Haddock chuckle.

“What is so funny?”

“Lad, you could run an entire ship with your slave driving ways.”

“I doubt that,” replied Tintin, though Haddock could hear the smile in his friend’s voice.

Haddock sighed and relaxed as Tintin continued to run his slender fingers through his hair. The sensation was incredibly relaxing though he would never admit it out loud. He knew that Tintin was not a very tactile person; the boy was so shy about receiving or giving physical comfort that he had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time Haddock had given him a hug. But Haddock had been persistent and Tintin had eventually grown to accept the gestures from Haddock and only a very few others.

“Captain?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I ask…why did you drink so much last night?”

Haddock was silent for so long that Tintin had given up hope of an answer when the older man finally spoke.

“Just thinking of how far my line has fallen, me in particular,” he said.

Tintin sighed as he gazed down at his friend’s face, lined from the wind, rain and sun and so full of character.

“You’re not him, you know.”

Haddock’s eyes blinked open as he stared at Tintin in confusion. Tintin held his gaze; hopefully he could find the right words that Haddock needed to hear.

“Sir Francis. You don’t have to be like him. Sir Francis lived in a different time and place; you shouldn’t compare yourself to him. You’re enough as you are.”

The older man didn’t answer and instead merely closed his eyes again, but Tintin felt Haddock’s body relax more fully against him.

After Haddock had fallen asleep Tintin sighed and lifted his gaze to the empty bottle sitting on the table across the room. He hated that bottle. He hated what it did to Haddock; how it diminished him and had caused him to lose the one thing he loved the most – sailing. Haddock had never really discussed how he felt about being forced into an early retirement after the affair with the _Karaboudjan,_ but Tintin knew that his friend had been bitterly disappointed about losing his position with the merchant navy. And Tintin knew, as surely as he breathed, that Haddock would take his old position back over any amount of wealth in an instant.

‘I wish I could help you, but I don’t know how,’ thought the boy miserably as he pushed a few strands of dark hair out of Haddock face.

Tintin’s greatest fear was that one day Haddock would drink too much and his liver would finally give out, or he would choke on his own vomit and never wake up. The very thought of either possibly made Tintin shudder with fear and horror.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered softly, knowing the captain couldn’t hear him.

In the year they had known each other Haddock had become more than an acquaintance to Tintin, and in some ways even more than a friend. Tintin had long stopped wondering what it would have been like to have parents; he had learned at an early age that dwelling on such things would only lead to heartache. But somehow Haddock, without even knowing it, had begun to fill that void that for so many years Tintin had managed to ignore. And a very small part of him, the part that was still just a boy and not the boy wonder reporter, yearned for that connection.

That was why he would continue to lecture, harangue and argue with Haddock about his drinking. He would be damned before he lost Haddock to that vile substance. Haddock meant too much to him.

Molly, Haddock’s Siamese cat, entered the study with a soft meow. She gazed at Tintin for a moment before jumping onto the back of the sofa on soundless paws. She snuffed at Tintin’s ear before curling up behind the boy’s head, purring softly.

Snowy entered a moment later and growled when he caught sight of Molly, who gave a warning growl in return.

“Easy, you two. You can tease each other later – let the captain rest for now.”

Snowy huffed and gave Molly one last baleful look before curling up next to Tintin’s feet. The dog rested his white head on Tintin’s foot, determinedly guarding his master from the vile feline.

Later that evening Nestor opened the door to the study to check on his master. His taciturn features softened at the sight before him. Tintin and Haddock were both fast asleep, the latter stretched out across the sofa with his head resting on Tintin’s lap. Tintin had one arm wrapped loosely around the captain’s chest. It was amusing in a way to see Tintin’s slight frame, dwarfed by the captain’s much bigger one, curled protectively around the older man.

Quietly, Nestor rebuilt the dying fire and took away the now warm bowl of water and used rags. He then returned and gently shook Tintin awake. The boy blinked owlishly at him.

“Nestor…what time is it?”

“Nearly eleven o’clock, sir. Do you want me to help move the master to his room?”

“No, I’ll stay here with him,” said the boy softly, looking down fondly at the snoring captain.

“I thought so. In that case I brought you this,” said Nestor, holding out a flannel blanket. Tintin took it with a smile and draped it over the captain.

“Ring if you need anything sir, good night.”

“Good night, Nestor.”

After the manservant had gone Tintin looked down at Haddock to make sure his was still asleep.

Tintin had never known his own parents, true, but Haddock was the closest thing he had to a father and he only hoped that Haddock’s drinking wouldn’t take him before Tintin had a chance to tell him that.


	4. Tintinnabulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my own interpretation of Tintin’s background, which is a topic I’ve been meaning to explore for some time now in this fandom.^^ I got the idea for this fic after reading a certain poem of Edgar Allan Poe – a free tin of virtue cookies to the first person who guesses the poem! ;)

_“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11_

Haddock paused at the crest of the hill he had been climbing and set his walking stick on the ground, drawing in deep breaths of the cold, crisp air. It was early spring in Marlinshire and winter still persisted over the county, its icy grip lingering in the early morning hours before the sun had fully risen.

After he had caught his breath Haddock straightened, wincing as his back protested the movement. He was a bit disturbed at how much effort it had taken him to climb the small hill when in his younger days he had scaled ships’ masts with little effort. It was all the more reason to exercise more and take the air, as both Tintin and Calculus insisted he do. The air of Marlinshire wasn’t the same as the cold, salt-tinged gusts that he was so accustomed to at sea, but it was still invigorating in its own way.

Haddock watched as the sun slowly slipped over the horizon, as hesitant and as slowly as the tide pulling away from land. He still couldn’t quite believe that all of this land now belonged to him. It was bad enough that the locals kept addressing him as “sir”; it reminded him too much of his sailing days with the Royal Navy and how he would never again command a crew under the flag of the United Kingdom.

Still, things could be much worse, he thought. He still had a purpose and a few dear, close friends that were determined not to see him fall into ruin. Haddock had sworn once to himself that he would not follow in his father’s footsteps and let drink ruin his life. He thanked God daily that Tintin, along with Calculus and Chester, were willing to help him in that endeavor.

After the sun had fully breached the horizon Haddock turned to go back down the path but stopped when something caught his eye. Something glittered in the growing sunlight directly in front of him and Haddock bent down to scratch away the damp earth. He finally pulled the object free and held it up to the light to examine it.

It was a silver medal, depicting what appeared to be a saint of some sort. Haddock wasn’t Catholic but knew such a thing was likely precious to whomever had lost it. He stood and wrapped the medal in his handkerchief before placing it safely in his pocket. He would post a notice in the local paper about having found the medal and hopefully whoever had lost it would soon reclaim it.

Nestor had lit the fire and the study was warm and bright when Haddock retired after supper to read the paper and his mail. He sat down in his favorite chair as he leafed through the day’s correspondence – some bills, a letter from his solicitor in London, a postcard from Chester and a few local notices.

The last letter made him pause. It was for Tintin and the return address was written in French. Haddock knew enough of French to see that it was from an abbey or monastery in Belgium. This letter must have arrived just after Tintin’s last visit. The boy spent so much time at Marlinspike now that his landlady, bless her, had begun forwarding his correspondence to the hall so that he would not miss any important mail.

Figuring that the letter was in regards to one of Tintin’s many articles that he was working on, Haddock set the letter aside and turned his attention to his paper. Tintin would be visiting again in a few days and he would give it to the boy then.

When Tintin arrived at Marlinspike later that week Haddock was dismayed to see that the boy looked pale and haggard. Tintin assured his friend that he wasn’t ill, merely overworked. Nonetheless Haddock insisted that the boy relax for the rest of the evening and when Tintin didn’t protest the fussing Haddock realized that his friend truly was exhausted.

“This came for you, by the way,” he said, holding out the letter. “It arrived just after you left here last.”

He watched as Tintin’s eyes widened as he saw the return address and quickly opened the letter. As he read a soft, nostalgic expression came over Tintin’s face. It was an expression Haddock had never seen from Tintin.

“You alright, lad?”

“Hmmm? Oh yes, excuse me Captain.” Tintin looked up from his letter and gave Haddock a reassuring smile.

“It’s just that it’s from some very old, dear friends of mine. I haven’t seen them in nearly two years.”

Haddock leaned back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe. He didn’t want to pry into Tintin’s personal affairs but he was bursting nearly to the brim with curiosity.

“Is it from an abbey? I wasn’t sure of the translation.”

“It is, and one I know very well.” said Tintin. “I spent the first fifteen years of my life there.”

Seeing Haddock’s baffled expression Tintin smiled and looked back down again at the letter. “Well, you see Captain…”

********

_Seventeen years ago…_

Brother Joseph had just finished sweeping the front entrance steps to the abbey when a soft cry made him look up. Thinking it was the local tomcat again, or perhaps a new kitten, Joseph set aside his broom and made his way towards the sound to make sure the poor creature wasn’t hurt or trapped.

What he found half-concealed amongst the bushes made him stop cold in his tracks. Instead of a cat he found a basket, and in the basket was a tiny wrapped bundle that was unmistakably a baby. When the babe started to wail Joseph snapped out of his shock and quickly knelt down to make sure the infant wasn’t injured. At least whoever had left the child had the sense to make sure he was wrapped warmly against the frosty morning air.

Joseph carefully picked the baby up and looked out over the quiet lane and surrounding landscape.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” he called.

A soft gust of wind was his only answer.

The babe suddenly started to wail and the poor man looked down at the upset child.

“Shh,” said Joseph, awkwardly rocking the baby. “Shush now, you’re safe. No one shall harm you.”

The babe quieted and looked up at the priest with clear blue eyes, hiccupping. Joseph smiled and used the long sleeves of his habit to give the child extra warmth.

“Where did you come from, little one?” he wondered out loud.

Soon the other members of his order had found their wayward brother and his new discovery. The brothers crowded around Joseph, firing off questions left and right. Already feeling protective of his new charge, Joseph managed to hold off questions until they were inside the warm interior of the abbey.

“What is going on here?”

The brothers immediately fell silent as the head of their order, Mathias de Berghes, entered the chamber. The Father Abbott raised a silver brow when he caught sight of the babe in Joseph’s arms. It wasn’t unheard of for foundlings to be left at churches and monasteries, but it never before happened at their humble abbey until now.

Joseph stepped forward, the babe cradled carefully in his arms. “I found this child near the front entrance, Father Abbot. There were no clues as to who he is or why he was left on our doorstep.”

Mathias bent down to study the babe and the brothers were surprised to see a rare, soft smile come across the abbot’s normally stern features.

“He is a beautiful child,” Mathias admitted. “And he seems healthy enough. But,” he added, his face growing stern again. “You may not keep him. And don’t deny that you were all thinking of it – I know you too well.”

Paul, one of the more outspoken and bold brothers, began to protest but one quelling look from the abbot silenced him.

“No, hear me, brothers. We are a monastic order – raising children is not our vocation.”

“Father Abbot,” said Joseph. “Normally I would agree with you. However, I believe it was no mere coincidence that this child was left on our doorstep. God’s providence sometimes works in ways that are hidden to us, but may be revealed in the future.”

“This is a _child,_ not a stray dog or cat that you can simply take in and expect to receive affection in return for food and shelter. He will grow into a boy, and then into a young man. What if he does not wish to join the order when he becomes of age? Will you be willing to let him go so that he may live his own life? Think carefully before you answer, brothers.”

The men fell silent and Mathias knew that his words had hit home. He sighed and folded his arms into his sleeves, suddenly feeling old and tired. Part of being a priest was telling people what they needed to hear, not necessarily what they wanted to hear. But it never got easier, especially when he saw how his words affected his brothers.

“You all have duties – to our order, to each other, and to God,” Mathias continued in a gentler tone.

“I am proud that you all wish to care for this child, but a monastery is no place for a young boy. He needs to be with others his own age. No, save yourselves heartache, my brothers, and take the child to the orphanage.”

“There is no more room in the orphanage, Father. They will not take him.”

“What about the nunnery? I know the Mother Abbess is willing to take in orphans until they are old enough to be sent to school.”

“Yes, but she will only take in girls, as you well know, Father.”

“We can’t just send him away, Father,” said one of the brothers earnestly. “We just can’t. He’s far too young to travel anywhere and besides, where would we send him?”

Mathias sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He calmed himself and silently asked the Lord for guidance. He looked back up again at the expectant, hopeful faces of his brothers.

“Very well. You may keep him,” he said with a heavy sigh. He wondered if God had a sense of humour, because none of them knew the first thing about raising children.

“What shall we call him?” asked Michel, bouncing excitedly on his heels. Mathias didn’t have the heart to reprimand the youth – at only sixteen and an orphan himself he could understand Michel’s excitement at having someone younger than he to teach.

“Well,” said one of the brothers. “Today _is_ the feast of St. Justin Martyr, and since we have no clues as to his name or family…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“I think Justin is a fine name,” said Joseph. “What say you, brothers?” There were murmurs of assent and Joseph nodded. As he did one of the bells on his rosary jingled. The babe squealed in delight and reached for the rosary that hung on Joseph’s belt. 

Mathias chuckled. “It seems your Justin has a fascination with bells, or more appropriately, the tintinnabulation of them.”

“Justin…tintinnabulation…” said Paul. Suddenly the friar laughed. “How does ‘Tintin’ sound for a nickname?”

“Horrible,” said one of his companions dryly and the others all laughed good-naturedly.

“Very well, young one,” said Mathias after the laughter had died down. “From this day forth you are Justin, and for as long as you wish this will be your home.”

********

Tintin sighed at the happy memories and glanced back up at Haddock after he finished his story. The captain was the first person he had told about his background and it felt oddly good to finally be able to share it with someone. Tintin wasn’t ashamed of his upbringing, but he had learned the hard way that sometimes being an orphan with no family (at least by blood) to speak of led to harsh and ugly judgments about his character.

“Were you happy there?” said Haddock after a moment.

“Yes,” said Tintin honestly. “I did feel a bit lonely at times, but the brothers were very kind to me. They helped me become the person I am today.”

Haddock smiled. “Aye, and a fine job they did too.”

Tintin blushed and looked down but didn’t try to hide his smile.

“Is that where you learned to speak English then? You speak it so well, I’ve often wondered where you were taught.”

Tintin nodded with a grin. “The brothers were most insistent that I learn to not only speak English fluently, but also read and write it. They also tutored me in German, Latin and Greek. And that was on top of my regular studies in history, geography and mathematics.”

Haddock let out a low whistle. And he thought his schooling had been tough.

“Ah, that reminds me!” said Haddock, suddenly standing and fishing about in his pockets. “I think this might be yours,” he said with a grin, holding out something that dangled on a silver chain.

Tintin held out his hand and felt his mouth drop open when Haddock placed his lost St. Justin medal in his hand.

“Where did you find this?”

“On the grounds while I was out walking a few days ago.”

“It must have fallen from its chain – I didn’t realize it was missing until I had returned to London.” Tintin wrapped his hand tightly around the medal and gave Haddock a brilliant smile.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome, my boy,” said Haddock as he returned to his chair.

They sat in companionable silence for a time until Tintin noticed that Haddock was shuffling in his chair. Sensing that the captain wanted to ask him something, Tintin waited patiently for the older man to speak.

“Lad…Tintin,” Haddock began hesitantly. Thundering typhoons, just get out with it, he thought to himself.

“You know that you’re always welcome here, any hour – day or night?”

Tintin blinked in surprise at Haddock and then grinned, a boyish expression that suddenly make him look like the seventeen year-old he was no matter how much older he tried to appear. 

“I do know that Captain,” said Tintin. And before Haddock could respond Tintin stood, crossed over to Haddock’s chair and gave him a brief but tight embrace. Surprised but touched, Haddock awkwardly patted the boy’s back.

“This feels like home too,” said Tintin softly. He then released Haddock and gave him one more smile before bidding him good night.

Haddock watched the boy go before shaking his head and retrieving his pipe.

It was funny, he thought as he picked up a book and settled in for a good read. Both he and Tintin had no living blood relatives, but they had both found something just as good, if not better – families of choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The abbot in this story, Mathias de Berghes, is a fictional character. His name is borrowed from two past archbishops of Mechelen-Brussels – Alphonse de Berghes and Mathias Hovius. 
> 
> St. Justin Martyr was an early Christian theologian who lived during the 2nd century. He is most known for his theological writings, so I thought it would be interesting to have Tintin, a writer himself, named after another great writer.


	5. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit early for Halloween, but I was in the mood to write a ghost story so here it is.^^ This takes place during "Red Rackham's Treasure" and is a little what-if scenario from that comic. Enjoy!

“I’m going to take Snowy for one last walk on the beach before we head back. I’ll be back by sundown, Captain.”

Haddock nodded and waved the boy off, his attention still focused on the chart his was studying. They were heading home tomorrow after nearly a month of searching for Red Rackham’s treasure. Tintin was just as disappointed as the captain in not locating the treasure but he still couldn’t understand what they had missed. The supposed “eagle’s cross” on the island had been a dead end and with no further clues to follow they had been forced to give up the search.

One of the sailors rowed him out to the island and told him that he or another crewman would be back by sunset, and to meet him at the shoreline then. Tintin thanked the sailor and then grinned down at Snowy. The dog barked and Tintin laughed as he set aside his shoes and socks. The fine sand felt warm and soft under his feet and he was glad he had decided to visit the island one final time.

“All right, boy,” said Tintin. He found a stick and tossed it. Snowy was after it like a shot, returning only a few moments later with the stick held proudly in his mouth. They continued their game for the better part of an hour, gradually moving further down the shore.

Snowy suddenly lost interest in the stick Tintin had just thrown again, choosing instead to chase after a curious seagull that had gotten too close.

“Snowy, come back here!” said Tintin, jogging after the terrier. His foot suddenly caught on something and he stumbled and fell. Rolling over, Tintin saw that he had tripped over a pile of dried seaweed that had been half-covered by the sand. He felt something damp and sticky clinging to his ankle and saw that it was a tentacle of some sort.

That was the last coherent thought he had before pain suddenly exploded in his right foot, shooting up his ankle and leg with a violence that left his gasping for breath. 

Tintin let out a strangled shout that turned into a full-fledged scream as the pain grew and grew. He staggered and fell hard in the sand, biting his lip until he felt blood trickling down his chin. 

_‘Jellyfish,’_ he thought numbly, his fingers scrambling in the sand for a stick, a shell, anything that could get the tentacles off of him. His shaking fingertips finally closed around a large, flat shell and he managed to sit upright. The motion made the pain even worse and he was unable to stop a few pained tears slipping down his face. He quickly wiped his face on his sleeve. He had to get the stingers off of him immediately.

Even the slightest touch was agony but Tintin finally managed to scrape the last tentacle off of him. He then lost the battle with his stomach and twisted to the side as he retched.

After he was done Tintin hoped that he would be able to get back to the shoreline but something else was wrong. His heart was pounding furiously and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His hands were ice cold and sweat was pouring down his face.

The last thing he heard was Snowy’s frantic whining before blackness swept over him, and then there was nothing.

********

Tintin slipped in and out of consciousness, never fully coherent and barely aware of Snowy’s anxious cries. He knew that sooner or later Haddock and the others would come looking for him but he wasn’t sure how long that would take. The pain in his foot was excruciating – a hot fire that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. It was far worse than being shot. He knew jellyfish stings were supposedly painful but he didn’t think they were this bad.

“Please…someone…help,” he croaked in a whisper.

He must have finally succumbed to exhaustion, because when Tintin next opened his eyes it was pitch dark and the air was cooler. A light breeze picked up and he shivered. His was freezing cold and his throat was burning with thirst. Snowy, who had been curled up next to him, whined softly and licked the boy’s cheek. Tintin barely had the strength to lift his hand and give his loyal dog a reassuring pat.

He tried again to stand but a hot lance of agony had him falling back onto his back, gasping. Tintin rolled over as he felt his stomach turn but all that came up was bile. After his stomach had settled he laid back and closed his eyes. He would have to wait for someone to come find him, he realised.

A light touch to his brow made him open his eyes again and the boy’s swimming vision could just make out a figure kneeling next to him. Beyond that Tintin could make out more shadows that vaguely resembled men. It was a moonless night and so dark that he couldn’t make out the man’s features but felt certain it was Haddock and the crew. Who else would it be?

“Captain…” he said. A part of his mind that was still rational and not overwhelmed by the pain noted that Haddock had yet to speak to him, and even stranger was wearing old fashioned clothes.

 _“Get up,”_ said a voice but he was unsure if it had been spoken out loud or only in his head. And it didn’t have Haddock’s familiar Scottish brogue.

 _“You must get up,”_ other voices joined in, their accents strange and archaic.

“I can’t…”

 _“Your friends are looking for you,”_ said the closest figure, the tall one with the broad shoulders. _“But you must help them find you. Now, stand up,”_ the figure said, with so much authority and command that Tintin found himself sitting up.

He swayed heavily and closed his eyes, taking in deep gulps of air. The thought of standing and causing his injured foot even more damage made him hesitate. But suddenly there were hands on him, helping him up. He looked around but could still only see shadows. His vision faltered and he staggered but he didn’t fall.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked, but the strangers helped him along though they spoke no more to him. Now half delirious with pain, Tintin wasn’t sure if they were even there, or if it was just his own mind playing tricks on him, trying to motivate him to get back to the rendezvous point.

The next thing he knew the hands were releasing him. He sank to his knees again before slumping onto his side. Before his eyes shut Tintin caught sight one last time of the beach.

There were no footprints in the sand aside from his own and Snowy’s.

********

Haddock suddenly held up a hand. “Quiet! Listen!”

The three sailors with him froze and they could faintly hear a dog barking. Haddock’s face paled. “That’s Snowy!” he exclaimed.

They had been searching for hours for Tintin after he had failed to appear and now that it was nightfall Haddock was growing more worried by the second. They had lanterns with them but it still made spotting anything or anyone only slightly easier.

“Tintin, where you are?” Haddock called. He didn’t receive an answer but he could now make out Snowy’s frantic barking, growing louder as they kept walking.

They crested a small hill and suddenly spotted Tintin lying prone in the sand. Snowy began barking even more furiously when he spotted the men. Haddock rushed to the boy’s side and set his lantern down while the other men held theirs up to provide better light as they searched for any signs of danger.

Haddock carefully rolled Tintin onto his back and patted the boy’s clammy cheek roughly.

“Tintin, Tintin, open your eyes lad!” he said, shaking the boy a bit harder than he meant to in his worry. 

Tintin suddenly moaned and tried to jerk away from Haddock’s touch. Haddock frowned and ran his hands carefully over the boy’s limbs, trying to find an injury that would account for the sorry state his friend was in. He didn’t see any blood but when his hand brushed against Tintin’s right leg the boy let out a sharp cry.

Haddock jerked his hand away in alarm and then peered more closely at the boy’s leg with his lantern. The exposed skin was covered with vivid red welts. It looked as thought someone had taken a whip to Tintin.

“Bloody hell, Cap’n,” said one of the sailors, gesturing to something on the ground. “Here’s the trouble.”

Haddock looked to where the man was pointing and cursed violently when he saw the remains of what he recognized as a Portuguese man of war. That explained the red welts on the boy’s leg.

The other sailors blanched and gave Tintin compassionate looks. Several of them had had their own encounters with the “floating terror” and knew just how painful the creature’s sting was.

He turned back to Tintin and shook his shoulder again, this time more gently. “Tintin, wake up lad.”

The boy’s eyes finally opened and Haddock carefully cupped the boy’s cold cheek.

“Tintin, do you think you can stand if we help you? We need to wash your foot off before it gets any worse. Do you understand?”

Tintin nodded slowly, his eyes closing again. Haddock looked up at the men who were waiting for his orders.

“Right, let’s get him up and into the water.”

Haddock and another sailor helped Tintin to his feet, each of them taking an arm as they helped the boy towards the shoreline. Tintin gritted his teeth as the cold salt water ran over his injury and it was all he could do not to cry out.

“Alright, that should be enough,” said Haddock finally and Tintin sagged in relief between the two men.

The rest of the crew was waiting for them when they returned and quickly hauled Tintin aboard. By now the boy had become unconscious again and Haddock was thankful that his friend had a temporary relief from the pain.

Haddock quickly climbed aboard after Tintin was secure and immediately rapped out orders.

“Get him below deck,” he said as two sailors easily lifted the boy between them. “And mind his foot – you don’t want to get any of the venom on your fingers.”

“You two,” Haddock said, pointing at Thomson and Thompson, “radio the nearest port – tell them we have a medical emergency and will need a physician waiting when we dock.”

When Tintin woke he found that he was lying on a soft, if rather small, bed instead of the beach. He no longer felt cold – in fact he felt a bit too warm – except for his right foot. The boy managed to raise his head a bit and saw that his injured leg was propped up on a pillow and wrapped in cold wet rags. An icepack was carefully laid on top of his ankle.

He looked around and realised that he was back in his cabin aboard the _Sirius._ He tried to sit up but gasped in pain when his foot flared.

A strong hand was suddenly pushing him gently but firmly back down. He looked to his left and saw Haddock standing by his bedside.

“Don’t move lad, you’ll just make it worse.”

“Wha…happ’n’d?” he slurred, wincing at how raw his throat felt from the constant vomiting.

Haddock took a glass of water and helped Tintin swallow a few mouthfuls before he answered the boy’s question.

“We found you nearly unconscious on the beach. Your were stung by a man of war.”

“Is that what that was? I thought it was a jellyfish – no wonder it hurt so much,” said Tintin, shivering as he recalled the first red-hot bolts of agony.

“Aye,” said Haddock. “Mariners call them the ‘floating terror’ for just that reason.”

“I didn’t see it at first – I thought I had just stumbled over some seaweed that had washed ashore,” said Tintin, suddenly feeling very stupid.

Haddock gave the boy a stern look. “None of that now, young fellow. Lots of experienced seamen have had the exact same thing happen to them, and I’ve seen men twice your size screaming after being stung by one of those devils. So there’s no need to be embarrassed – no one blames you.”

Tintin nodded and suddenly realized that he had been stripped down to his undergarments. He flushed and tried to discreetly shift more under the covers even though he wasn’t cold.

Haddock noticed his discomfort and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry lad, but we had to make sure you didn’t have any other injuries. Plus you were ice cold and needed to be warmed up.”

The older man paused and continued a bit more gruffly. “Thank God we found you when we did – had you wondered further down the beach we may not have found you until dawn. Calculus thinks you had an allergic reaction to the sting and went into shock.”

“But I was further down the beach, much further,” said Tintin, puzzled. “You and the others helped me back to the boat.”

Haddock paused in lighting his pipe and gave the boy a confused look. “What in blue blazes are you talking about? We found you almost exactly where you had been dropped off this afternoon.”

Tintin stared at the captain. He knew the captain wouldn’t lie about something like this. 

“But if it wasn’t you…”

“What’s that lad?” said Haddock but Tintin wasn’t listening.

He thought back to how he hadn’t been able to distinguish the faces of his rescuers, or how they spoke with strange accents and most of all how there had been no trace of them, not even a footprint. Tintin knew he hadn’t had the strength to make it down to the beach alone, so someone _must_ have helped him. But what kind of person walks without leaving a footprint?

Not a live one, thought Tintin with a shiver.

Had the crew of the _Unicorn,_ having been murdered without a proper funeral, lingered on the island? And had part of Sir Francis’ spirit remained with his fallen ship?

“Tintin, you all right?”

The boy blinked and saw that Haddock had sat down on the bed next to him.

“You just went white and you’re shaking like a leaf, young fellow. Are you feeling worse?”

“Captain, do you believe in ghosts?”

Haddock blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

Tintin repeated what had happened to him earlier that night and how his mysterious rescuers had simply vanished without a trace.

Haddock frowned and fiddled with his pipe after Tintin had finished speaking. The boy could tell Haddock didn’t believe him – how could he, when even Tintin wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or not?

“Well, whether it was God, fate or ghosts that allowed us to find you, you’re safe and that’s all that matters to me. Get some rest now.”

Tintin nodded as he watched Haddock go. He lay back down but remained staring into the dark night, wondering how fine a line there was between dreams and reality.

Later that night Haddock stood alone on the deck of the Sirius, gazing at the island as he chewed thoughtfully at his pipe. His mind kept going back to the story Tintin had told him. He believed that Tintin thought he had saw something, or someone, but the boy also acknowledged that he couldn’t be sure if it had been reality or just a hallucination brought on by pain.

All mariners had their superstitions and Haddock was no exception. Skill and knowledge were essential for any decent captain but a healthy dose of luck never hurt either. And if there really had been someone there with Tintin he wished he knew who it was so that he could thank them in person, even if they were ghosts.

A light breeze ruffled through his hair and Haddock suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He suddenly had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

Haddock whirled around but there was no one there.

Shaking his head, Haddock turned to seek his own bed but for many years later he had never been quite able to shake the feeling that something had been out there on that lone island.


	6. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 6 - the sea is cruel but its siren call has always drawn Haddock despite its many dangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I apologise for the lack of updates, everyone – life has kep me busy but I hope this little piece is to everyone's liking. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing.

While Haddock was officially retired from the British merchant navy, he still occasionally joined Chester or another one of his old naval friends for a trip on the sea, either as a temporary worker or as a guest on board. Normally Tintin declined Haddock's invitations to join him on such trips, knowing that the older man would want to catch up with his former naval compatriots. Although Haddock never said anything Tintin knew how much Haddock missed commanding a ship and the last thing Tintin wanted was to be a distraction.

But one on occasion Haddock's invitation coincided with Tintin's need to go to New York for a story, and given that his editor flat-out refused to reimburse Tintin for travel expenses the boy had readily accepted the offer of a free trip.

The voyage was uneventful until about half-way through their journey. They were crossing the Atlantic and towards sunset Tintin suddenly noticed that the ship had grown quiet and was now almost at a standstill. He looked around to see several sailors gathered at rail, all of them gazing out at the sea. No one appeared alarmed and there was no sign of an emergency, as the weather and ocean were both calm.

Bemused and slightly uneasy, Tintin made his way over to Haddock. "Captain, what is it?"

Haddock gave Tintin an unusually sombre look. "Do you know where we are lad?"

"Er, on the Atlantic Ocean?"

"We're at precisely forty-one degrees, forty-six minutes north latitude, fifty degrees, fourteen minutes west longitude," said Haddock, rattling off the coordinates with practiced ease.

"What does…oh," said Tintin as he suddenly realised where he had heard those particular coordinates before.

Those were the last known coordinates of the _Titanic_ before she sank.

Tintin suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. They were floating directly over a graveyard.

Haddock noticed Tintin's expression and patted the boy's shoulder. "It's sort of a tradition that a few ships started, about a year after _Titanic_ sank," explained Haddock.

He and Tintin, along with the other sailors, removed their hats as the ship's captain dropped a large wooden cross into the water. Tintin and Haddock watched the waves carry it away until it couldn't be seen anymore.

"Poor devils," murmured one sailor close to Tintin, making the sign of the cross.

Slowly the sailors returned to their stations and before long the ship was underway again.

Later that night Tintin finally gave up sleeping and glanced blearily at the clock in his cabin. It was a quarter past two in the morning, only five minutes until the ship had sunk.

Shivering at the thought, Tintin quickly dressed and made his way to Haddock's cabin. Knowing the older man would be awake, Tintin knocked on the door.

Haddock opened it, raising an eyebrow when he saw Tintin but gesturing him in nonetheless. Something in his expression told Tintin that he was glad of the company and he hurried into the warm cabin.

The boy frowned when he noticed the open bottle on Haddock's desk but decided against saying anything. Given the day's events Tintin really couldn't blame the man.

Tintin sat down on Haddock's bunk while the older man returned to his previous seat at the desk. They sat in companionable silence for a time until Tintin finally voiced the question that had been bothering him all evening.

"Captain?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you ever afraid, out on the sea?"

Haddock scoffed as he refilled his glass.

"Lad, any sailor who says he isn't afraid every time he sets out for open water is a liar or a fool. Never sail with anyone who says they're never afraid, do you hear me?"

Tintin nodded and drew his knees up to his chest, having taken his shoes off earlier. He rested his chin on his knees as he studied Haddock.

"I've always wondered…sailing is so dangerous, so why…?" he trailed off, unsure of how to voice his question.

"Why do fools like myself go rushing in where angels fear to tread?" Haddock asked, but with a smile that told Tintin he understood what the boy was trying to say.

"There are as many reasons for men to join the sea as there are men in the world, Tintin. Some join the navy for money, or to escape from something on land, or just for the sense of freedom.

"Is it dangerous? Aye – I've sailed through Cape Horn, the Bering Sea, the Indian Ocean – I've seen a man's leg torn clean off from a shark attack and bleed to death in seconds and another die slowly from typhoid fever. But," Haddock paused and took another drink before continuing.

"There's nothing like seeing land after successfully 'rounding the horn, or a sunrise on the open ocean, or seeing a leopard seal for the first time," said Haddock, his voice and eyes growing soft with fond remembrance.

Tintin blinked. "You've seen a leopard seal?"

"Aye, and the swab nearly took my arm off, but got the boat oar instead," Haddock added with a grin. Tintin made a mental note to ask for that story later.

"All those people, I can't stop thinking of them," Tintin admitted quietly.

Haddock looked at Tintin for a moment and then set his glass down, standing to go sit beside Tintin. Haddock wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder and Tintin allowed himself to rest against Haddock's side.

"I know, lad. It's the same with me and probably every other sailor on this ship. It was a disaster that never should have happened. And I have no shame in saying that it gives me the shivers, being right over where all those poor souls drowned."

Tintin suddenly had a horrible image of Haddock going down with his own ship and shivered. He smiled when he felt a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders and then Haddock's arm returned to its previous position around the boy's shoulders.

They sat like that for a while, each of them reflecting on the cruel nature of the sea and of over one thousand lives that were lost.

When Tintin began to doze against Haddock's shoulder the older man shook him gently. "You should lay down if you're tired, lad."

Tintin straightened and shook his head. "I don't want to go to sleep, not just yet. It doesn't seem right." For some reason Tintin felt the need to keep a silent vigil, at least until morning, to keep those lost souls company.

Haddock gazed at Tintin for a moment and then nodded. "I know what you mean lad – I don't feel like sleeping just yet either. So what do you suggest, as I'm almost out of whiskey?" he added with a grin.

Tintin smiled as he scooted to one side of the bunk so that Haddock could stretch out his legs on the bunk.

"Tell me about the time you met a leopard seal," said Tintin.

Haddock laughed and began to tell the story with his usual vivid language and Tintin finally felt warm again.


	7. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with another Tintin fic! This chapter focuses on the events surrounding Tintin in Tibet; I’ve had several questions about whether I am planning to write fics focused on the adventures in Tibet and on the moon and...the answer is yes. I have big plans for both stories and this chapter is a bit of a brainstorm towards a larger fic that I am working on.
> 
> Also, this chapter may seem a bit harsh towards Tintin and Chester, but it’s only because I tend to write from Haddock’s point of view and being closer to 40 than 20 I have a different perspective on the Tibetan adventure. I absolutely love both Tintin and Haddock’s characters but I tend to write from Haddock’s point of view more than Tintin’s as I relate better to Haddock.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, dear readers!

Tintin had always gotten on quite well with Captain Chester; the older man had always been amiable and courteous towards Tintin whenever he had seen the boy, usually during one of Chester’s visits to Marlinspike Hall.

However, on his latest visit to the hall Chester had been brusque and distant, although his behaviour towards Haddock was as friendly as ever. It hurt Tintin more than the boy was willing to admit; he respected Chester very much and had been looking forward to seeing him after he and Haddock had returned from Tibet. He couldn’t for the life of him think of any reason for Chester to be upset with him and so after supper he went to go seek out Chester. He finally found him on the grounds, walking along the edge of the pond. When Chester noticed Tintin he nodded but didn’t smile.

“Tintin,” he said levelly, but without the usual warmth in his voice.

Tintin frowned. “Captain Chester, I haven’t had the chance to speak to you in private since you arrived. I can’t help but feel that you’re upset with me. Have I done something to offend you?”

“Why would you think that?” said Chester, his expression still flat.

“I am not a child and I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like one,” said Tintin, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. “If I have offended you in some way please tell me.”

Chester frowned and crossed his arms crossed over his chest. “You may not be a child, but you’re not as grown as you like to think.”

“Excuse me?”

Chester shook his head and stepped closer. “Haddock told me about that fiasco in Tibet. What were you thinking, dashing off like that on a fool’s errand? 

“I was looking for my friend,” Tintin began, surprised at the anger in the older man’s voice but Chester cut him off.

“Do you have any idea how much sleep Haddock lost over that fiasco, and that blasted trip to the moon as well? But no, you had to go dashing off and drag Haddock with you all because of some silly dream! You could have both been killed!”

Tintin had been listening in shocked silence but finally recovered himself. “I will not apologise for not giving up on a dear friend who is like a brother to me, monsieur,” he added, his Belgian accent becoming more pronounced, something that only happened when he was especially upset.

“How would you know? You don’t have any family, you said so yourself,” said Chester without thinking.

As soon as he said the words Chester immediately regretted them. Tintin’s face went pale and then he seemed to deflate, suddenly appearing very young looking. 

“You’re right, Chester, I don’t know what it’s like to have a family,” said the boy quietly. “But Haddock is the closest thing that I have to a father – there’s no person I respect more and it makes me sick thinking that we both almost died in Tibet.”

With that Tintin turned and walked back towards the hall, leaving a surprised and thoughtful Chester staring after him.

Tintin slipped quietly back into the hall through the servant’s entrance in the kitchen. He was quiet but was still surprised to see Nestor sitting calmly at the table, a cup of tea and the newspaper in front of him.

The loyal servant raised an eyebrow when he saw Tintin.

“Are you alright, Master Tintin? You look pale.”

Tintin nodded but wasn’t quite able to meet Nestor’s eyes.

“Yes, I’m just tired, I suppose. Good night, Nestor.”

The older man nodded and watched the boy vanish upstairs. He sighed and shook his head before returning his attention to his newspaper.

These latest fiascos on the moon and in Tibet, combined with the rumours of war brewing in Europe, were setting both Haddock and Tintin on edge. He only hoped that both of them would be able to clear the air between them before something happened to either one of them.


End file.
